In All But Name
by Arlome
Summary: "For tonight, between the four decaying walls of this blessed chamber, she is to become a wife in all but name." Set during season 2, episode 10.


The room is bleak in its decaying bareness. The floral pattern on the wall, drawn in cheap pink-and-gray paint, is peeling off, and the window sash creaks and groans with the blowing wind. Apart from an old four-poster bed, a chamber pot, a stand with a wash-basin and a dented copper ewer, the room is depressingly naked; no closet for one's overcoats or gowns, not even an unprofessionally drawn picture on the wall. The room is morose and barren, but Caroline enters it with all the awe and excitement reserved solely for the grandest of ballrooms- for tonight, between the four decaying walls of this blessed chamber, she is to become a wife in all but name.

She makes her way to the bed, noting that at least the sheets look clean enough, and sits down. She tries to hide the wince at the loud creak coming from the stressed bedsprings, but to no avail; having noticed her cringe, Dwight smiles and looks away, blushing slightly in embarrassment. There can be no mistake; by morning, all the gossipy guests of this 'fine' establishment will have formed their own unneeded opinion of her virtue and reputation.

Her fiancé- _Good Lord, how quaint it sounds!_ \- comes to stand before her and takes her pale face in his steady hands.

"Are you reconsidering?" he asks quietly, his blue eyes shining brightly in the growing dimness of the room. Shadows play on Caroline's face as she shakes her head in negation.

"Never," she whispers, and the coyness is absent from her voice, "you are not to be rid of me so easily, Dr. Enys."

Dwight bends down to kiss her cheeks- first the right one, then the left- and one of his knees slips between her skirts to lean on the bed beneath her; Caroline's breath catches in her throat at the feel of his thigh betwixt her own.

"I'd sooner get rid of my own heart, my love," he murmurs against her lips, and his mouth is warm and inviting, "but I shall ask again; are you absolutely certain?"

She feels somewhat emboldened by Dwight's affections, so she pushes at him half-heartedly and falls back on the bed in such an unladylike manner as to elicit an astonished look from her Good Doctor and a gush of laughter from herself, as the bed protests and groans loudly at the ill-treatment.

"Nearly all who have eyes in this inn have seen us go up to your room together; I doubt that the sounds of a creaking bed will either surprise or shock them. Besides, we cannot be the only couple here to take advantage of the last precious few hours in each other's company." And with this she opens her arms and beckons to him, her cheeks aflame, "now, come here."

The weight of his body on top of hers is both unbearably pleasant and delightfully overwhelming. The golden buttons of his cream-colored waistcoat press into the fabric of her dress and Caroline sinks deeper into the mattress, finding it hard to breathe for a precious few seconds. The pressure builds up inside her burning lungs, and she draws up her knees, her skirts running up her parted thighs, to better accommodate the alien heaviness of another's torso, tightly pressed against her own.

Dwight, ever the physician, seems to associate her fidgeting with discomfort and moves to prop himself on his elbows.

"Am I crushing you?" he asks, concern colouring his voice, and he moves to stand, to relieve her of the weight of his body, when Caroline, now mortified that this slight glitch in their lovemaking should prematurely end their night together, grips his waist tightly and holds him in place.

"Don't you dare move," she commands him frantically and squeezes her thighs around him for emphasis, "stay…." Her fingers find the edge of his waistcoat and boldly slip beneath it to touch at the place where his undershirt ends and his breeches begin. Dwight closes his eyes, a soft groan escaping his slightly parted lips, and he drops his forehead to her neck in resignation.

Caroline bites her lower lip nervously and flattens her left palm against the small of Dwight's back. He exhales loudly against her skin, and she shivers in ill-contained anticipation, as his long fingers find her lips.

"I think I should breathe more freely if you were to help me with my stays, my love," she kisses his fingertips and speaks quietly into his ear, her cheeks now permanently flushed with both excitement and trepidation. He mumbles, "but, of course," against her jaw and pulls her into a sitting position and she can finally see his face and note the flush dusting his cheeks and the brightness of his eyes.

"I love you," he says desperately, and the walls of her heart clench painfully in her chest.

"I love you," she echoes ardently, her hand skimming his jaw tenderly, and he closes his eyes at her touch.

The room grows dark as they fumble with each other's clothes, and the end result finds Caroline in her shift and stockings and Dwight in his navy breeches. The only candle in the room stands unlit by the wash-basin, but the street lamps cast enough light through the window for Caroline to see Dwight's form and face amidst the shadows. Her fingers tremble as she traces the hard lines of his chest and her heart beats wildly in her chest at Dwight's sharp intake of air. His palms slide up her stockinged feet, inching the edge of her shift higher, past her parted thighs, as he moves to cover her body with his once more. His kiss is hot on her lips, and Caroline sighs and shakes as his fingers find the most secret and delicate part of her body.

There are no words between them, only sighs and breathy moans and countless delirious kisses. She's taken apart and reassembled under the proficiency of his long, steady fingers, and when the tremors pass, and only raw emotion remains, she clings to him as to an anchor in a storm. Dwight entwines his fingers in her golden curls and kisses her parted lips.

"Caroline; my own, darling Caroline," he whispers against her mouth as his right hand slides down her body to the pale green ribbon that holds her stocking, "Are you well, my love?"

Caroline nods and presses her forehead to his, taking a much-needed breath of air.

"I am," she smiles at him and, even in the faint light from the street, she can see that he blushes rather prettily, "and you?"

Dwight smiles back and ducks his head to kiss a spot right under her ear that makes Caroline squirm and squeal with delight, "I've seldom been better, Miss Penvenen."

They laugh lightly together for a few moments as the shadows in the room grow longer and darker. The entire chamber is being engulfed by night and the precious few hours left to the lovers are rapidly slipping away into the darkness. The time for their joining grows nigh, and Dwight turns serious, almost pensive, as he regards the beautiful young woman lying beneath him with anxious determination.

"Caroline…" he begins, and his voice shakes slightly with emotion, "do you know what to expect?"

 _Oh_ , she thinks a bit frantically when the meaning of his words sinks in, and the full implication of their actions is suddenly unveiled before her eyes, _so it is time_.

She does not wish him to see how nervous she is at the prospect of their forthcoming intimacy, so she brings her hands to his jaw and raises her head to land a light kiss on his mouth.

"I know what to expect," she says firmly, and every single thing in the wretched room seems to blend together save for his eyes- his beautiful eyes- that pierce her soul and see straight into her cynical heart.

Dwight nods in resignation, and his palm on her stockinged thigh, suddenly shaky and unsure, nudges her leg gently to the left.

"Forgive me, my love," he mutters against her lips and kisses her fiercely.

She cries into his mouth at the moment of joining, shocked by the intensity of the pain; her entire body going rigid. Dwight kisses every inch of her face and, unmoving, holds her tightly in his arms, allowing her to grow accustomed to his presence.

"Breathe, my darling," his voice is strained in her ear as he presses his lips against her heated skin, "try to relax your body; it will help with the pain."

"Is it always like this?" her voice trembles and she winces at how pitiful she must sound to him.

"No, no," he murmurs and brings his hands to her cheeks, "No, my love; I promise you. With time the sensations are quite…different."

Caroline blushes, and her hands find his naked backside.

"Like before?" she asks almost timidly and is instantly rewarded with his brilliant smile.

"Yes," he kisses her, his teeth grazing her lower lip, "like before."

The prospect of future lovemaking that is both satisfactory and enjoyable gives her heart, and she spreads her thighs a bit wider, and wills her aching muscles to relax; her eyes close and she nods bravely.

"Alright."

"Alright." Dwight echoes in the darkness.

The bed does creak rather vulgarly when he begins to move within her in earnest, and the lovers end up laughing in some relief, at the dreadful sound; truth be told, it distracts Caroline from her dulling pain and the both of them from the characteristic awkwardness that so often comes with first attempts at carnal pleasures. Soon, though, the laughter turns into sighs and quiet moans and murmured names, as the night deepens around them.

When it is over, they lie side by side, staring at the canopy above their heads in mutual contentedness; her arm brushes gently against his, as she seeks to entwine their fingers. After a few moments of silence, Dwight turns to her and smiles.

"And now, no doubt you hate me," he says and gently kisses her bare shoulder.

"And now, no doubt I hate you," she replies with a sad smile and reaches for him, tugging his warm body closer to her as she wraps her arms around his neck. Her lips are pressed against the underline of his jaw, her fingers pulling gently at the hair on his nape, and sleep beckons when Dwight breaks the silence again.

"Caroline," he begins, his words slightly muffled against her golden curls, "I want you to listen to me carefully and do as I instruct you now in case one or several of the symptoms -"

She pulls back to regard him with some amusement and places her hand against his lips to stop the torrent of words spilling from his mouth.

"Stop it, Dwight," she admonishes him playfully, "I do not wish for medical talk-"

He removes her hand from his lips and presses it to his heart instead, his demeanor serious.

"No, wait; Caroline, this is important," and, clearly struggling with saying what needs to be said, he adds with an awkward little cough, "how regular are you in your courses?"

"Dwight!" she cries, astonished at his impertinence, and yanks her hand from his grasp, "what sort of question is this to ask at such a time?"

Dwight pulls her back to him and kisses her temple.

"I know this seems a bit indelicate," he says placatingly, and she scoffs, "but I must know; If you were to conceive…"

 _So_ this _is what troubles him,_ Caroline thinks wretchedly, and her heart constricts tightly in her chest in disappointment at the swiftness with which the lover turns back into the physician.

Embarrassed and slightly mortified at the topic of conversation, she turns into his embrace and hides her flaming face in the crook of his neck.

"I am very regular, Dr. Enys," her voice is small and shy and his arms tighten around her, "there is… no danger."

"Nevertheless," he kisses her hair and lowers his cheek to rest upon the crown of her head, "listen carefully; if your courses are late, even by a few days; if you feel lightheaded, nauseated, fatigued – I want you to do the following." Here he pauses and sighs mournfully and tries to find his voice again. His tone is weary and quiet when he finally continues, "take some chopped, dried Angelica root and boil for thirty minutes, then drink it as you drink tea, every five hours. This should bring on the absent courses."

Caroline disentangles herself from his embrace and props herself on her elbow. She frowns at him from above and, trying desperately to make light of the heavy situation and bring back the easiness of their intimacy, she raises her eyebrow and smirks.

"My, Dr. Enys, you talk like a wise woman; careful or you may yet be trialed for witchcraft!"

Dwight smiles and shakes his head.

"Not a wise woman, no; just a man who knows his herbs," then he grows serious again and places his hand on her arm and squeezes lightly, "My greatest wish, my darling, is to become your husband and there is nothing I would want more than for us to have a child together; but not like this…I would not saddle you and tarnish your good name with such a burden for the world. When I'm safe on land again, and we are married, then…" and suddenly her Good Doctor grows silent and looks away, as if he is disappointed in himself and with the world. He turns to her again, and his eyes are sad and tired, "So, Caroline; you will do as I say? If the event should come to pass?"

His inquiry is gentle, almost pleading, and she nods and kisses his forehead fondly, knowing how hard it is for him to even suggest such a form of action.

"You have nothing to fret about," she whispers into his hair, wishing to reassure him, "I am adamant in my belief that there is no danger; you are best to trust me, Dr. Enys."

His arms find her naked waist and his eyes gleam in utter darkness.

"I defer to your far more superior knowledge in this matter, Miss Penvenen,"he says almost lightly and they both smile, and the intensity of the moment seems to be gone and put to rest.

Not long after the dreary exchange sleep finally claims the two lovers and they lie entangled in each other between coarse sheets, their woes forgotten, as the night crawls towards dawn.

Pale light seeps into the barren room through the window, tickling Caroline's face with barely-warm, gentle fingers. She opens her eyes slowly and finds herself alone in the old bed.

 _He's gone!_ Is the first thought that barges panically into her still sleepy mind as she sits up in bed, holding the blanket pressed to her naked chest. _Gone without a word!_

Her eyes roam the room frantically, hoping to find Dwight in details if not in reality, until they spy him buttoning his waistcoat in the corner; a slightly amused expression on his handsome face.

"All well, my love?" he asks, a smile tugging at his lips.

Caroline exhale in relief, suddenly feeling extremely foolish. Naturally, there was never any danger. Dwight would never leave her without a proper goodbye; not after all their hardships. Not after their shared night.

"Yes, my dear," she smiles, and she's glad that her voice is steadier than she feels, "is it time already?"

Dwight grows sober and nods, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Yes," he says, "it is. Go back to sleep, beloved. It is still early."

"Nonsense," Caroline says and springs out of bed, regardless of her nudity in the pale light of dawn, "it is a wife's duty to see her husband off to war, after all."

When Dwight says nothing, she turns to him to finds him blushing fiercely, his eyes averted respectfully, and she laughs.

"Come, dearest," she teases as she saunters to his side and moves to relieve his hands from the tedious task of tieing his neckcloth, "you've seen it all but a few hours ago."

Dwight clears his throat and looks at the ceiling, clearly flustered at her bare proximity.

"Yes," he nods valiantly, "but it was dark then, and I do not wish to presume-"

Caroline places both hands on his flushed cheeks and pulls his face towards her own.

"Stop it, Dwight," she whispers seriously, now thoroughly blushing herself, "Am I not yours? Am I not _all_ yours?"

He nods again and plants a gentle kiss on her lips, his steady hands shaky against her naked, narrow waist.

"Yes," he mumbles, and then clears his throat, "Yes; and I am yours. Completely, irrevocably yours, my love."

They finish the morning routine in reflective silence, and Dwight assists Caroline with the many layers of her dress.

"I've never helped a woman _dress_ before," he says as he aids her with the stays, and she can hear the smile in his voice as he tugs at the string; Caroline holds tightly to the bedpost, provoking a long, suffering groan from the ancient wood. Dwight chuckles and bends to kiss her neck. She sighs and leans back against him.

"I wish you would help me _undress_ for the rest of our lives," she counters, and he hums his agreement against her skin and turns her around for the rest of the tiresome job of dressing up for the day.

"I give you my word, " he says seriously, as he holds out her underskirt for her in his outstretched hands, "I will do anything within my power to fulfill your wish."

She smiles prettily and looks away almost shyly as if overcome by the strength of his emotion, but in truth, a labyrinth of despair carves its way into her innards; for he has little power over the mysteries of the future, and foresight is not one of her many talents. They must rely upon fate, and the grace of God, to see them through this predicament.

"I know," she assures him, nonetheless; and kisses him sweetly on the mouth, and then again, for their precious time together is running out.

They decent the stairs separately, first Caroline, then Dwight; only to find the inn blessedly deserted. Their steps are careful, light, almost spy-like, as they make their silent way towards the door and tiptoe into the sleepy street.

She throws her arms around his neck at the harbor and cries freely into his neckcloth, caring not that all the sailors and the fishermen that are about can see her indiscretion. _To Hell with them all!_ She thinks as she tugs him closer to her and presses his torso against the stiff front of her dress as if trying to take him back into her body, where he so clearly belongs.

"Promise you will return to me," she pleads, all the while knowing how futile it is to try and secure such a pledge, "you must, Dwight; for I know not how I should live were you to-"

He kisses her desperately, his hands cradling her flushed face.

"Don't say such things," he smiles and presses his lips against her forehead, "you and I will stand before the vicar and promise to make each other miserable for the rest of our lives before you know it; so no more tears, my love."

Caroline laughs shakily and grants him a watery smile, and he nods.

"And now I must go," he says and looks towards the boat full of sailors that clearly awaits only the surgeon to sail, "so promise me you will not mope, and waste away silently while I am at sea; for if you are wretched, then I shall not have the strength to bear this separation. Promise me to prevail, Caroline."

At these words, she pulls herself to her full height, the façade of aristocratic haughtiness back in place, and smirks at him.

"Why, of course; Dr. Enys," she says and winks at him, "sail away to sea, for King and Country; save as many of our brave sailors as you can, and Horace and myself will await you eagerly until you return to us, safe and sound."

Dwight laughs and kisses her again swiftly.

"I love you," he says, still smiling.

"I love you," she echoes, and if her own too-wide grin falters just a bit, he does not say a thing, and she is happy for it.

She stands on the shore until the boat reaches the ship in the distance, and she can no longer see the people on board; then she turns and heads back to the inn, to take her carriage to her uncle. The street is still quiet and almost empty, save for some fishermen and army officers that move about their business at this Godforsaken hour, and Caroline is glad for the silence. The crisp morning air pinches her cheeks and dries off the tears that gracelessly escaped her eyes, and as she pulls on her hat, to hide away all evidence of her disheveled hairstyle, she takes refuge in optimism.

Against all the odds, against uncle Ray's wishes and society's dictations; Dwight and she will be together again. She shall prevail, and so shall he, and the past will become history.

Caroline looks to the future.


End file.
